


moonlight sonata.

by eoghainy



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Gen, S.T.A.R.S., idk just some happy stuff before shit goes down, pre - resident evil zero
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-12-22 14:26:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11969283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eoghainy/pseuds/eoghainy
Summary: Already, he could tell he was going to like working in S.T.A.R.S.





	1. welcome home, soldier.

“Are ya’ gonna call up that sister of yours ’n see if she’s available for a lunch? I’d love t’ get t’ know her better,” a rasping laugh came from the other end of the phone. “See how much she’s really become like ya’, Chris.”

Scowling into the number pad, Chris leaned against the frosty side of the booth, winding the cord around his pointer finger idly. “She’s away right now at college, I think, but I figured I’d call her up right after we got off the phone and schedule a meet up with her. Do you think we’ll get time off with this job?” He subtly changed the topic, wanting Barry to ignore the fact that he really had no clue what the hell Claire was up to. 

As if he had heard something funny, Barry snorted. “Sure, Chris. Yeah, we’re gonna get _so_ much vacation time. Listen, how th’ fuck would I know? I haven’t gotten there yet.” In the background, Chris could hear a smooth woman’s voice calling a flight to some gate. “Listen, that’s my flight.” 

“Already?” 

“Got here late. Girls didn’t wanna let me go.” There was a sadness in the man’s voice that Chris could sympathize with. “I’ll be there late; connecting flights ’n all. I’ll see ya’ tomorrow, kiddo.” 

“Yeah, yeah, tomorrow. Have a safe flight, Barry.” 

“Don’t kill anyone until I get there!” Barry countered, his voice thick with amusement.

Chris laughed, and there was a quiet _click_ as the phone hung up. For a moment, Chris lingered in the booth, listening to the dial tone before sliding in another quarter through the slot, quickly pressing the number keys. There was a slight sound, and then it was ringing. Someone behind Chris scoffed, and he shot them a dirty look, his breath catching when it went straight to voicemail. 

She must have been in class. Good; she was actually learning, and not ditching to go run off with her awful boyfriends that he absolutely hated. He had no doubt that they were bad influences, but that wasn’t what he was worried about. It was the influence that Claire had upon _them_ that made him worry. 

“Hey, Claire, it’s me. I was just calling to let you know that I arrived in Raccoon City alright, gonna swing by the old house and take a look at it, see if I can recover anything. Maybe a few more pictures. I don’t know, it’s just going to be tough. All of it. I’ll call you again when I get situated with an actual number and see if I can pay your way here so we can visit, okay? I hope you’re doing well. It’s been way too long. Love you.” 

With that, Chris ended the call and placed the phone back on its cradle, tossing the guy behind him another dirty look before exiting the booth, collecting his duffle from outside the booth and slipping it over his shoulder. The air around him was crisp, still holding the hints of winter, but promising the warmth of spring. Raccoon had changed drastically since he had been there last, about five years ago. Though he had been there more recently, within the last two years, it had only been for a few hours. There hadn’t been time for him to explore around and see how the city had truly changed.

Flagging down a cab, Chris slid into the back and deposited his duffle beside him, telling the driver to take him to an abandoned house on the outskirts of Raccoon City. The driver gave him a confused look, but when Chris insisted, drove off compliantly. He even turned on the radio at Chris’ request, and he was pleased to hear Freddie Mercury’s beautiful voice. _Made in Heaven_ ; the very song that solidified his and Claire’s affections for each other. As he adjusted his jacket, which had the insignia of the song on the back, Chris settled down, preparing for the long, winding ride.

Listening to the music in silence whilst tuning out the hum of the engine, Chris watched as scenic Raccoon City began to go by. Stores that had been there since he was a child, new stores that he hadn’t known moved in, restaurants, the ice cream shop he and Claire got into a huge fight in when they were still innocent and together, his parents bank, the flower shop he bought his high school girlfriend her first bouquet in — 

This city, this place, this little insignificant town was where he grew up. Once so small, once so quiet, it had become so populated and loud. So different, too unfamiliar and unusual. It made his heart ache to think that everything he had clung onto when he was just seventeen was gone, washed away with time. So many of the original structures were in the process of being torn down and replaced with something better, something newer, something to further change Raccoon’s identity. He hadn’t lived here in five, nearly six years; why should he take it so hard? 

Maybe because almost all of his memories were centered around here. In the town square was where he had his first kiss, and behind the old church was where he got drunk for the first time. Though he wasn’t a frequent visitor to the cemetery, he got high a few times there in a family crypt, laughing away his fears and his anticipations for the future with friends that had long since moved on, gotten married, had troublesome kids of their own. 

With the good memories came the bad ones. Like how on King Road, his parents were killed in a head - on collision. How he broke his arm when he was five, swinging too high on the swings at his pre - school while the other kids encouraged him. He had walked it off after, not even aware that his arm was broken; laughing about how his small limb looked like a jagged staircase. Or how he broke up with his girlfriend, his first real love and the girl that claimed his virginity, in the quiet shadows of the park and walked away as she cried. 

Chris’ throat swelled, and he shoved away the thoughts. He didn’t like thinking about any of that, because _God_ , his life had fallen apart and it was all his fault. His parents died and left him and his little sister orphaned, he lied to the state about what their living situation was and took care of her for months before being found out, he eventually got thrown into foster care with Claire and hit his _fuck it_ point and left to provide to the best of his ability for the one person that fucking mattered. But, it didn’t end there! Because once he got himself into the Air Force and made a name for himself, his _attitude_ got him kicked out! His file said retired, thank whatever God that was looking out for him, but he knew. 

He knew that he had ruined his best fucking shot at having a semi - decent future.

Because let’s face it, how far is someone like _Chris_ going to get with his lack of high school education? He dropped out in his senior year, has a bad work reputation with his bosses, has his own sense of moral about _everything_ and more often than not could not resist telling people where they could go shove their aggravating words. His superiors had put up with it for five years before finally kicking his ass to the curb when he failed to meet their requirements. What could he do? He couldn’t just change on a whim; he believed what he believed, and nothing would get in the way of that. 

Damn, he was so fucking lucky to have a friend like Barry Burton. Like a wounded dog, he had slunk off to skulk in some sleazy motels whilst pondering what the fuck he was going to do. He had been so upset, so distraught, because what he had done . . . 

It was a long story. It was all a long fucking story that ended with Barry calling him up one day last month, offering him something that was not only a chance to fix what he had done, but a way to provide for Claire’s future once again and a paved path to a new future. He had been overly excited and immediately agreed to come back home for this opportunity. 

What had been offered to him was a position in a new elite team in the Raccoon City Police Department. Special Tactics and Rescue Services, brand new, that would do what the regular officers couldn’t. Elite soldiers like Chris and Barry were being recruited into two teams of six, where they’d be given various tasks and orders that their fellow officers couldn’t tend to. Cold cases, high - ranking gang members and thugs, investigations all throughout Raccoon County. You’ve got a complicated problem that needs to be solved? Call up S.T.A.R.S. at extension 301, leave your name, number and your problem at the tone, and they’ll get to you as soon as they can! 

Chris couldn’t help thinking of it as some sort of cheesy sitcom. Twelve of the finest with various skills from military, specialized organizations, and the government were gathering here. In Raccoon City. To fight crime. Petty crime, really. How ridiculous did that sound? But Chris was desperate, and he heard from Barry when the offer came through that S.T.A.R.S. would pay well. He’d need this chance to better his reputation before it fell too far for him to fix. He was twenty - two, almost twenty - three, he needed to fix it _now_ before he got fucked over for the rest of his life. 

“We’re here, kid. Gonna be five - fifty.” The driver interrupted his thoughts, sliding back the glass divider to look Chris in the eye. 

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Chris dug his wallet out of his pocket, pulling out a five and three dollar bills. Despite his lack of funds, his parents taught him to never be cheap on tips; that’s how people make a living. The cab driver certainly looked pleased, and gave a friendly nod as Chris slid out of the back, duffle slung over his shoulder, fingers rooting around in his pocket for his keys. He pulled them out when he found them, giving them a lingering look before forcing himself to open the waist - high gate, wincing as it creaked from lack of use, and followed the short walkway up to the house. 

The pathway was overgrown, clearly not taken care of. The grass was high and brown, and the wooden steps leading up to the narrow porch were rotting. He could hear a faint buzzing in the background that indicated bees, and a prickle of frustration hit him. The government assumed the house, and they wouldn’t even take care of it? How fucking ridiculous can you be?

When he grabbed at the doorknob, he found that it was loose, and the door swung right open, the hinges giving a low whine that sent chills down Chris’ spine. He was immediately greeted with a grim darkness and rank stenches that made his nose wrinkle, and he knew the house was in bad shape. It seemed no one had been in here for _years_. The thought frustrated him further. How hard was it just to keep a house in order? 

With a resigned sigh, he stepped further inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. He lowered his duffle onto the dusty floor, watching as a soft cloud of dust began to congregate in the air. The light switches didn’t work, and the windows were so grimy and dirty from years of neglect that minimal sunlight filtered in. But Chris remembered this house, he remembered it by heart, and his eyes were beginning to adjust to the gloom. 

“Excuse me? You shouldn’t be in this house.” An old rasping voice caught Chris by surprise, and he turned to face whomever had followed him, seeing nothing more than an older woman hobbling through the creaking door with her cane. Her large sunglasses masked most of her face, and her hair was just a messy mop of silver. “It’s owned by the government, and I won’t hesitate to call —” She broke off with a sound, really studying him for a moment. “Oh, Chris . . . welcome home, young’in’.” 

A small smile spread across Chris’ lips. “Thanks, Dott. It’s uh, I wanna say that it’s good to be home, but . . . a house isn’t a home without family.” He must have had a sad edge in his tone, because Dott looked sympathetic. 

“Now now, don’t say that. Your sister comes here well enough. Breakin’ in through the back door, comin’ in through the windows. She nearly gives me a coronary every time she does! What a reckless young girl. I love that girl to death, believe me, but I do not know _where_ she got her attitude.” 

Chris snorted. “From me, most definitely.” He looked ahead of him at the narrow staircase flush against the wall, letting his fingers brush against the post as he moved to the left through an open doorway, reacquainting himself with the kitchen. He swore he could see a rat scuttling across the counter in the corner of his vision, but it was gone too quickly to be sure. Dott, determined, followed him. The unsteady falls of her cane upon the creaking floorboards were enough to break the silence, and wash away the unnerved feeling he got. This place was not his house anymore.

“When did you come back? Last that girl told me, you were doin’ _very_ well in the Air Force.” 

“Just today. And yeah, I was. I’m retried now, but everyone knows that an active person doesn’t stay retired. I got a job offer from the new S.T.A.R.S. division in the police department, so I’ll be around here more often.” As he spoke, he drew his fingers along the small four - seater kitchen table, remembering how he and Claire used to throw food at each other when their parents backs were turned. His mother would get so upset when she would find the little pieces of pancake in Claire’s hair, or a strip of orange peel on Chris’ collar. His father on the other hand would chide his mother for being too strict with them, and offer them his kindest smile, telling them to hide their little antics better next time.

“If only your dad could see you now,” Dott sighed wistfully. “I ‘member when you were just a little boy, runnin’ ‘round the yard with your mother chasin’ after you. Your diaper half on, mud all over you, laughin’ up a storm and then breaking down in hysterics when she finally caught you. She always said that you were going to be a handful, even _before_ you had been born.” The older woman laughed. “She loved you so much, Chris. You were her life.” 

 _Does that mean I had the right to end hers?_ Chris wondered, but didn’t voice his thoughts out loud. No one else knew why his parents were out on that road that night, not even Claire. He’d prefer that it stayed that way. “I miss her. I miss him, too, every day.” 

“They didn’t deserve to go so young,” Dott agreed, reaching out to give his shoulder a squeeze. She had to lean her arm up pretty high, for he was way taller than she was. “When you get a chance, Chris, you and Claire should come over for lunch. I’d love to catch up with you both.” She was a kind old lady, she meant well, but Chris knew that he wouldn’t be seeing her again. This was the last time he was coming back to his damned house. 

“Of course.” He said, instead of the truth. “When she calls me back, I’ll let you know. Do you need help to get back across the street?” 

Dott waved her hand in dismissal. “Ever the gentleman, Chris. No, ’m okay. Take care of yourself.” 

“Yeah, you too, Dott. See you around.” He watched her go, eyebrows drawn together, feeling _bad_. She had been on this street for at the very least, three decades. 

Where Chris and Claire used to live in Raccoon City was on the outskirts, really and truly. Whereas Chris’ old childhood friends and some of his parents friends lived on the outskirts near the Arklay Mountains, the Redfield’s lived at least two hours from there. They lived in a previously - small development called _Terrol Hills_ , which when he was growing up, only had about thirty people _tops_ in it. Now that Raccoon City was becoming more densely populated, there were new houses being constructed and old ones being renovated, with new families moving in all the time. His old family house was going to be up for sale, he knew. Someone was going to move in, fix it up, and create new memories.

But Dott had lived here when this development was just a dead - end street. Her husband was dead, her children were all grown, her grandchildren were all grown, and she had great grand - kids that were currently growing and coming to visit her — or so he hoped. She had been a babysitter for him and Claire when their parents went out, and she had been there for them when their parents died. She was a part of their childhood, and Chris loved her dearly, but he was leaving this house behind.

He had to. The house wasn’t in his name anymore, and there would be realtors coming around to fix it up and make it sellable. 

Chris spent a few more hours in the house, picking up idle stuff that he really didn’t need, but wanted. Claire had indeed come through and picked through everything that she wanted; her room was bare of all the things she had once treasured. His was still the way that he remembered it: bed done up perfectly, no toy or stray article of clothing out of place. Dust lined everything thickly, and the door had been so swollen that it had taken a sharp shove from Chris’ hip to get the door to budge open. 

There was nothing in his room left that he’d need anymore. Last time he was here, he managed to snag a few pictures of himself and Claire, along with pictures of their parents, and their parents wedding rings. Everything else had been left behind and forgotten about. He idly picked up an empty picture frame, running his thumb along the glass before setting it back down in its rightful place. He had thought that there could have been more here, more memorabilia, something that he could hold onto that could keep the memory of his parents alive, but there was nothing. 

Nothing left. 

That’s okay. He had to let the memory of his parents go, and the guilt. He couldn’t dwell on it anymore. Was he going to stop? No. Because as unfortunate as it was, it was in his nature to dwell and feel awful about everything until it consumed him.

* * *

“May I help you?” 

There was a woman sitting behind a desk, flashing Chris a polite smile as she looked up from her work at him. She was pretty, no doubt; soft blonde hair that was neatly braided into a fishtail style over her shoulder, with gleaming forest - green eyes that he could have picked up upon from a mile away. If he weren’t here on business, he’d be flirting and trying to pick her up, but he couldn’t do that if there was a possibility that he was going to work here. 

“I’m here to see Chief Irons,” he rested his folded arms on the counter, looking at the secretary with arched brows, “I’m Christopher Redfield.” 

“Redfield?” She pursed her lips, and he could see the blue hued computer screen reflected in her glasses. “Ah, there you are. In a few minutes, I’ll take you back to his office.” She gave him her best smile, and Chris returned it, sitting where she had directed him.

On his way back into Raccoon from his parents’ house, he had swung by a motel, one of the more cleaner ones that actually had good service, and deposited all of his stuff. His duffle, a smaller bag with other items that he thought he’d need, and a second pair of boots. He didn’t know what the housing options would be for S.T.A.R.S., and if he was even going to _get_ the job, so he figured something temporary would be good enough for now. Besides, even if he got rejected and his entire future was fucked, he was gonna stay around Raccoon City for a few weeks at the very least. 

At the motel, albeit, he had showered and changed into cleaner, more firmly pressed clothes, and made sure that he looked professional before calling a cab over. He’d have to hit the bank soon; he was beginning to run low on wallet funds. Fuck.

Looking around the police station, Chris frowned at just how much the small space had changed. Initially, it had just been a couple of rookie desks in the front space with a receptionists area, an evidence room upstairs, and jail cells in the basement. There had been only two interrogation rooms and one cache room, and aside from that, it had really been it. The department had been underfunded, pathetic, and unfortunately lacking in officers. The biggest change of all was that it was in a completely new building all the way over on a different side of Raccoon City. 

The new station had to be a historic building. The winding beautiful staircases, the arches and the doorways, the styled interior that looked to be about from the seventies — it was nice. It had a new atmosphere, and though he didn’t know which historic building it was, he thought it was fitting. It was good; whomever this funder was, they were giving a good thing to this city. 

“Mr. Redfield?” The woman was standing beside her desk, one hand gently resting upon the counter. “Chief Irons is ready to see you now.” He never noticed how everything in here echoed.

“Great.” He got to his feet, realizing that he was several inches taller than her, even with her heels on. What struck him odd about her was the fact that she had chosen all white for her outfit. A white ruffled blouse, a white pencil skirt, and white heels; was it a requirement of Irons that she wore white? Though it unnerved him slightly, he still smiled and gestured for her to lead the way. “So, uh, who founded the reboot of the department and the renovations?” He asked, filling he suddenly uncomfortable silence.

Her heels echoed along with the soft taps of his boots, and her hips swayed in a way that wasn’t unpleasant to watch. For a moment, she retained her silence, leading him through a hallway with multiple pristine windows and towards a flight of stairs before speaking. “Oswell E. Spencer.” She stated in her soft voice. “Apparently, he’s descended from a founding family of Raccoon City, and he had the extra money to play with; he not only moved the department over to here, the old Catholic church that’s been here since 1873, but gave seemingly unlimited funding for whatever Irons required. Be it more officers, more spending money for taxes and things that they would need on a daily basis.” Her hands, which were previously at her sides, locked at the small of her back as they reached the top of the wide staircase. 

“I’ve never heard of him before,” Chris responded warily. Oswell E. Spencer? Though he didn’t remember much from his history lessons, he was pretty sure _Spencer_ wasn’t among the last names that founded Raccoon. It didn’t matter, anyway. As long as _someone_ was taking initiative. “Did he just do it for the police department?”

“No, he’s done it for multiple other businesses.” She held open a deceivingly heavy door for him, and he slid through, waiting for her to follow before watching as it clicked shut with a satisfying sound. “The man is supposedly a millionaire, maybe a billionaire.” She was leading him down a well - furnished corridor, with dark wallpaper on the wall and other decorations that seemed to have a personalized touch. Trophies, stuffed animals, portraits — some of them looked like things you’d find in a museum as opposed to a police station. “Irons really likes him.”

“I can see why.” Chris grunted, shaking his head. Raccoon _had_ changed, and he wasn’t sure it was for the better. If the entire city was going to become expensive and filled with rich snobs, there’d be no point to his broke ass sticking around. “When did the station move?”

“Three years ago.” Her voice was matter - of - fact, and she took a left when they reached the end of the hall. Chris couldn’t help but look back at the other way, trying to make out what could be in the shadows. The one thing about the atmosphere up here? It was darker, the air thicker, and it was warmer. He couldn’t make out much in the other direction, and decidedly gave up. “Irons was about to shut the station down and tell the mayor to find someone else, but Spencer came out of nowhere and funded _everything_. It was a surprise, truly. But, with the renovations and the influx of money coming in, crime has risen quite dramatically. Not uncommon considering the circumstances, but the regular officers were stretched so thin dealing with petty crimes in the city itself that the idea of S.T.A.R.S. was brought up and endorsed to deal with more complicated things all across Raccoon County.”

She seemed very well - informed for just a receptionist, Chris couldn’t help but notice. He listened patiently all the same, albeit.

“Though the officers will still respond to petty crimes and the like, S.T.A.R.S. won’t be going on patrol. They’ll be called directly into situations from here, and because there are two teams, each one will always be available. Irons said that one team will be on for twenty - four hours, allowed a brief rest, and then take over for the other team and do it as a rotational thing. He has more information, I’m sure.” 

“Thank you for sharing with me what you do know.” He murmured, and she craned her head back to give him a deserved smile. 

“We’re here anyway, Mr. Redfield.” She raised a slim hand, knocking upon a wide dark brown door, oak, presumably, three times. There was a muffled response from inside, and then she twisted the door handle, gently pushing it open “Christopher Redfield is here to see you, sir.”

“Good, good.” A deep voice huffed, and there was the sound of a chair creaking. “Come on in, Redfield.” 

The receptionist gestured for Chris to enter, and he did, stepping around her with ease. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness of the room, gaze narrowing as his pupils dilated. His gaze seemed to instinctively find the man in question; Chief Irons. 

Irons was shorter than Chris, and he was a portly man. His hair was a dark brown, darker than Chris’, and it had a stripe of silver through one of the strands. His lips were flat, pressed thinly together, and his eyes were a dark grey that almost seemed unnerving. He wore a pair of thickly rimmed glasses, and he had a cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He had a thick mustache lining his upper lip that matched his root hair color, and his eyebrows were thick and drawn together. He looked a bit unprofessional wearing just his white dress shirt with a pair of black suspenders over his torso and shoulders, but Chris could see that his jacket was hanging off the back of his chair, and that the dark circles underneath his eyes indicated multiple sleepless nights. Though this guy wasn’t the ideal chief, he didn’t seem too bad.

The office itself was quite large, Chris noticed. There was a chandelier hanging above a table in the middle of the room, the table and matching chair being set upon an expensive looking area rug. Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the wall on the right side, connecting to shorter shelves that were half the size. Various trophies, books, and decorations adorned them. There were portraits of various other chief’s that came before Irons strung up on the wall behind him, as well as several other paintings that might apply to his personal preference. His desk was in front of the far wall, a comfortable office chair pulled up on the side with the computer and one on the opposite side. Chris presumed he’d be sitting there for the duration of their chat. The room was largely decorated with handmade wooden objects and shelves, and if Chris knew anything, it seemed as if the man was showing off all of his personal achievements. Whether it be intentional or otherwise, he didn’t know. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a door to his left. It was locked.

It didn’t matter regardless. Chris might be a sparse man, not really putting effort into decorating his homes because he knew that he was just going to have up and leave at some point, but Irons was older than him; more accomplished than him, and had more to show for his efforts than he did. 

“I’m Christopher Redfield,” he held out his hand for a shake, and Irons clasped it tightly. They firmly shook hands, and Chris refused to flinch away from the pressure Irons was applying to his palm. “You can call me Chris, sir.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Chris.” Irons said his name slowly, as if taking every aspect of him in. “You’re free to go, Emily. Thank you. Please close the door on your way out.” 

The receptionist, Emily, smiled. The same smile that looked a bit strained, and her eyes looked a bit too falsely bright, but she closed the door like he asked and footsteps quickly faded away. 

“Please,” Irons swept his arm towards the chairs that were sitting in front of his organized desk, and made his way over to his own chair as Chris took a seat. “You’re originally from Raccoon City, aren’t you, Chris?” 

Sitting up as straight as possible, Chris nodded. “Yes, sir. My parents were born and raised here, as were my little sister and I.” He had filled out the thick packet of paperwork for S.T.A.R.S. a few days ago and mailed it in, but he didn’t know if Irons had read it. Steadily, he held Irons’ gaze, not letting his own drift around the room. Retaining eye contact was important during an interview.

“So I read. Your father was military?”

“Yes, sir. Honorable discharge due to injury.”

“What type of injury?”

“Gunshot that never healed correctly and damaged his nerves. He couldn’t feel temperature around the wound, or throughout his leg, sir.” Chris remembered _very_ well when Claire had spilled scalding hot tea upon their fathers thigh, and he hadn’t even noticed that his skin was burned until their mother informed him and took him to the emergency room. 

“What did he serve in?” 

“Marines. He was a commander in his last days. He took a shot meant for a subordinate; they called him a hero within his own squad.” 

Irons nodded along thoughtfully. “You joined the Air Force, though? When you were eighteen?” 

Internally, Chris cringed. His file had a few white lies in it, but there was so much within it that was outweighing those little lies. “Yes. Since our parents passed, I took it upon myself to provide for my sister. Benefits from the job for her were too good to pass up. After five years, she has enough money to go to college without worry, sir.” 

Again, Irons nodded. Chris couldn’t tell how he was doing in the other man’s eyes. He watched with a guided expression as Irons reached over, grabbing a thick manila file and bringing it in front of him. He opened up the cover, leafing through the pages and skimming. 

“You’re retired?” There was a gleam of interest. 

“Yes, sir.” His throat felt thick.

“Why is that?”

“I had multiple difficulties following an order that I didn’t agree with,” his voice was quiet. _More like I’ve never gotten along with any of my superiors and have given them shit for five years before they got sick of it._ “They agreed to retire me, with all of my honors intact.”

The nodding and the pondering silence was far too unnerving for Chris’ taste. “You’ve got an impressive feat,” he admitted. “Lots of accomplishments. You’re only twenty - two?” 

“Yes, sir. I wanted to work hard for my sister.” 

“You were made captain of your own little squadron when you were only a year into your term, cycled back home only once, and you’ve got great experience with leading. You’ve got several close combat skills, you’re trained in several different forms of fighting, you’re an excellent pilot, and you’re quite the marksman. You can hit a target from any distance with any type of gun, and you’re very well - versed with a knife. _Very_ impressive indeed,” Irons leaned back in his chair, and it creaked with the effort. 

“Thank you, sir,” Chris’ voice was caught in his throat. He was too fucking nerved up over this; he _needed_ this job. Was all of his skills enough?

Irons closed his file, a pleased smile pulling at his lips. “Though the decision is not _officially_ mine to make, I can say that even if you don’t make it into S.T.A.R.S., the force would be honored to receive you as an officer.” The man scrubbed a hand over his face, gazing at Chris with a sense of respect. “I have no doubt that you’d be accepted as a member immediately. I presume you have some questions about S.T.A.R.S.?” 

“Yes, sir, I actually do.” Chris roused his enthusiasm. Even if he didn’t make it, he could at least have a job in the station here. Thank _God_. “How do the departments work?” 

Folding his hands across his stomach, Irons began to explain. “Well, each department works independently. I have my officers and my detectives, and they receive orders from me. Whereas with the S.T.A.R.S. teams will have their own captain and a unit leader, and their own orders. You’re practically operating as your own independent police station; we will pass on cases to you, your unit leader will find cases on their own, or people will call right in and request your help. You will get your paycheck from your unit leader, you will get your directions from your unit leader, and you will do as that person shall say. Technically I am your bosses boss, but you need not worry about that.”

Slowly, Chris nodded, understanding. “Will we live here at the station, or will we have to find somewhere to stay?” 

“We have an entire wing dedicated to the S.T.A.R.S. teams. Because there will be twelve of you, and one team will always be on call, we have six dual rooms with adjoining bathrooms for you all to share. There’s a kitchenette, a private training area, a separate weapons and ammo room, and a small common room. The private S.T.A.R.S. office is in that wing, too. It has the captains offices and where the rest of you will be. There is no requirement for you to stay nights here, or to spend extra time here. The only real rule we have is that you cannot be living at the station. You _must_ go home when you’re not on duty. Really rest up so you’re fresh for the following day of work.”

“I understand, sir.” 

“Good.” Irons rose, and Chris took that as his signal to rise as well. He shook the chiefs hand firmly, giving the man what he hoped to be his best smile, and let himself be led out of the room. “Go ahead, go on and explore the station. You must be curious. There are a few S.T.A.R.S. members hanging around here _somewhere_.”

“Thank you, sir.” Another smile that he hoped was his best, and then the door was clicking shut behind him, a final sound that somehow seemed ominous. Relieved, Chris wiped his palms down on his pants, exhaling for a full ten seconds before heading back down the hallways, pretty sure of where he was going. To his relief, there were new signs posted, supposedly for the S.T.A.R.S. members, directly them as to where they should go. 

 _S.T.A.R.S. wing this way_. One sign said, directing him away from what looked like Irons personal wing. There was a room across the way from him, and when Chris experimentally tried the door, he found it locked. There was another sign that directed him left, and he found himself opening a door that led him down a flight of carpeted stairs. Another door he had to open, finding himself able to hear laughter, typing, phones ringing, and papers shuffling. Taking a few steps, he found himself peering into a room with cluttered tables and a semi - private branch off office, and stepped inside.

A few officers greeted him, and Chris responded with a half - wave, offering wry smiles when he could. One female officer directed him to where he was going, and when Chris gave her a blank expression, she wrote down her directions in neat writing and told him to follow each direction down to the last letter. For some damn reason, this place was a maze, and everyone appeared to be all too aware of that. She also told him that the signs were strung up wrong, and that the receptionist was supposed to fix them as soon as she got a moment.

Somehow, Chris doubted that the signs would be fixed.

Nevertheless, he presses on, following the directions like he was told to. He lost count of how many corridors he went down with how many rooms there were, each one with its own separate function. He passed more officers and even civilians, each he greeted with a friendly wave and a cautious smile. There was too much information to be absorbed here, how the hell was he ever going to get used to it?

“Excuse me, you’re one of the S.T.A.R.S. members, aren’t you?” A man with short cropped blond hair is leaning against a wall, looking at Chris with a light brow quirked. HIs face is long and narrow, yet it goes with the rest of him. Long torso, long legs and arms, lean and well - muscled. “You’ve got that lost look on your face.” 

“Yeah, I actually just came from the interview. ‘M Chris Redfield.” 

“Richard Aiken.” Richard held out his hand, and Chris shook it firmly. “It’s nice to meet you. Don’t worry about getting used to this place. Wander around here enough with everyone telling you where to go, and you’ll figure it out pretty damn soon.” 

Chris laughed, folding his arms over his chest. “Yeah? I look forward to it. Thankfully the program actually doesn’t start until everyone is interviewed, so we have time to get used to it all.” 

“Most everyone is hired, actually.” Richard beckoned for Chris to follow him. He peeled himself off the wall, leading the way to a door. There was a sign above it that said _S.T.A.R.S. Wing_ in bold writing, and Chris committed the corridor to memory so that he could find it the next time he came. “There’s only like . . . three more spots that need to be filled? Or two, I guess, now that you’re here. Irons has another meeting with our next addition today.” 

“Have you met everyone?” Richard propped the door open and Chris took the invitation, stepping inside. Richard shut the door behind him.

The room they were in looked to be the living quarters. Ahead of them was a kitchenette, a few cabinets next to a pantry lining the walls. A standard size refrigerator with two sides, one a freezer and the other for regular cold foods, was tucked in nicely between the pantry and a granite countertop. It came with a sink already pre - installed. There was no dishwasher, but from here he could already see a dish rack, a knife block, and three cutting boards.

The kitchenette was set up on a patch of tile, with a small island in the middle of the black - and - white tiles before it gave way to berber carpeting. A few feet away was a knock - off suede couch, a matching love seat, and a rocking chair all angled around a coffee table and a television stand. There was an older model television set up on the stand, and it was playing the local news, but the sound was off. Behind that was a long shiny oak table with four chairs on the sides, and two on the ends. It looked domestic, not at all something you’d presume to find in a _police department_ of all things. 

“No.” Richard answered him, shaking his head. “I’ve only met a few of them. Forest Speyer, Rebecca Chambers, Jill Valentine, and Brad Vickers so far.” He was looking at Chris carefully. “This place is impressive, huh?” 

“Yeah . . . if this is just the living quarters, I can’t wait to see the rest of it.” This place was going to be amazing to work at, already he could tell. 

“C’mon, I’ll show you.” Richard led the way towards a branching hallway, pointing to a sign on the wall. It had directions to each area of the building, and Chris merely skimmed, impressed. The bedrooms are essentially right here. Rebecca and Jill are already sharing, since they’re the only girls so far.” 

Down the hall Richard led him. There were three doors on each side of the corridor, all of them closed. On the left side of each door was a small plaque, with spaces for two names to be slid in through the gaps. The only door that was lacking any names was the one that Chris was heavily leaning towards already. There was only one — he couldn’t make out the name from this distance — that had an empty spot. Across the hall from this door, albeit, Joseph Frost and Forest Speyer had claimed that room. “Brad and I are sharing.” Richard said, pointing out his room to Chris. “You get your choice of a roommate. The new guy they’re gonna hire, or Marini.” 

“I think I’ll bunk with one of my old friends, Barry, thanks.” Chris touched one of the doors that didn’t have any names next to it, and Richard disappeared momentarily, only to reappear with two slides with his and Barry’s name on it. He easily slid them into the plaque, and then tilted his head towards a door towards the end of the hall. 

“Ready?” Richard asked, and Chris nodded. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

As they walked, Chris caught a few of the other names; Enrico Marini, Kenneth J. Sullivan, and Edward Dewey. Kenneth and Edward were bunking together, Enrico still had an empty spot. How many of these guys were here today? He’d love to meet everybody, put faces to the names, but that would come later. 

Going through the door at the end of the corridor, Chris let it close behind him, turning to look at the room Richard presented him with. It was another corridor, unfortunately, but there were two doors on either side of the hall, and one at the end. Richard headed towards the one on the left, and Chris followed like a lost puppy.

“These are the office rooms,” Richard explained, pushing open the office door. The lights automatically clicked on, motion sensor lights, revealing five desks and another door off to the side. The desks were empty, and as Chris’ eyes adjusted from the dimness of the hall to the brightness of the office, he saw that the other door led to a private office. Frosted glass allowed for a distorted view of some bookshelves and a desk, but otherwise he couldn’t see much else. 

“The other room looks the exact same as this. The separate office is for our team captains — they’ll tell us which ones we’ll be working in and such when everyone is put on teams.” 

Over the course of an hour, Richard showed Chris a small gym installment in the S.T.A.R.S. wing with workout equipment and a small pool for laps, along with a currently empty weapons area, a locker room, a file room, and a quicker way up to the wing through the entrance to the building. He didn’t get to meet the other members and ended up biding Richard goodbye once the tour was over. His head was buzzing with excitement and the after effects of stress. 

Already, he could tell he was going to like working in S.T.A.R.S.


	2. hold your head high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello sorry !! i completely got so busy that i had 0 time to work on this fic, so this is legit a chapter that is f-, lmao. but y'all i love this sm & i hope you guys enjoy !!

“So, this is Raccoon City?” 

“No, smartass,” Chris retorted, “this is just the airport _outside_ the city. Louisburg. Nice little area, but, not Raccoon. You’ll know it’s Raccoon when we get there.”

Barry’s dark eyes twinkled with amusement. He was being an asshole just to get on Chris’ nerves, Chris knew, but he had missed his old friend all the same. “’S good t’ see you again, Chris. Good t’ see you haven’t changed one single bit.”

“I had almost forgotten what the gross scent of your musk was,” Chris joked, and Barry slugged him in the arm with a sheepish grin. “It’s good to see you too, old man. How are the girls and Kathy?”

Helping Barry with his bags, he and the older man began to walk out of the baggage claim, Chris leading the way to the parking lot where his car was parked. “Good. Kathy is happy that ‘m workin’ in th’ states again, but, unhappy that ‘m so far away. She’s gonna look into real estate here so that we can all be t’gether. So I can witness th’ girls grow up. ‘M grateful for her makin’ such large sacrifices for our girls ‘n for me.”

“That’s great!” Chris congratulated, genuinely happy for his friend. He knew how much Barry thought about his daughters and his wife. Barry wanted to be there for his daughters and his wife, but being a working parent that also was in the Air Force, he had no choice. It was the only way for him to provide for them.

“Th’ girls aren’t gonna be happy about movin’, but, I need my family close.” The older of the two shrugged, the expression on his face torn. “’Sides, if this pays out — we’ll all be livin’ th’ high life when I retire.”

Chris led the way to his rental car, popping open the trunk and helping Barry put his stuff inside. He had snagged some things from his motel room to bring to his room in the S.T.A.R.S. wing, but it wasn’t like he owned a lot of stuff, so everything fit in his trunk quite nicely. Because he didn’t own a car anymore, and he did need one to get around Raccoon, Chris had decided to invest in a rental. It was an older model Toyota and smelled pretty damn funky, but, it’ll have to do until he could afford something a bit more recent and reliable. Sometimes the car would make some clunking sounds when he went over sixty miles per hour, forcing Chris to do the speed limit.

Not that it was a bad thing.

The drive back to Raccoon City was about an hour long. From experience, Chris knew that Barry didn’t sleep very well whilst on planes, instead choosing to knock back a few drinks until he’s able to settle into a comfortable enough state to get through the flight without too much complaint. As soon as Chris was pulling out of the airport, Barry’s head was drooping forward, chin brushing his chest, arms folded over his chest as soft snores pulled from the depths of him. Sometimes Chris would steal a look at him, his heart twisting at how old Barry looked. Wrinkles fanned out from the corners of his eyes and his mouth, and his skin was beginning to look sallow underneath his eyelids. Barry was getting old.

Out of respect for the older man, and as a friend, Chris made sure to take the drive gently. Go a bit easier upon the turns, break sooner than he usually did, overall just drive a bit more safely than he usually did. Barry needed to get at least _some_ rest for his interview, Chris knew that this was important to him too. They both really needed this job.

Chris has known Barry since his Air Force days. The older man had been a senior officer when Chris was still a green rookie, and when Chris had lipped off to him, Barry had wasted no time in simply just putting Chris in his place.

By, of course, knocking him flat on his ass. He had told Chris that he knew that Chris was still a minor, and when Chris had become nerved up and terrified that Barry would spill the beans, Barry had promised that he wasn’t going to say shit to their superiors. From then on, Chris had begun to respect the older man, and even looked up to him. He’d even go as far as to say that Barry had become his father figure.

About twenty minutes after the signs for Raccoon City began to pop up on the interstate, Barry woke, blinking in confusion before accepting what he saw. He settled into a more comfortable position and cracked his neck, a comfortable silence blanketing them before Barry broke it.

“Chris . . . where are ya’ stayin’?”

Chris’ grip tightened on the steering wheel as he mulled over his response. “A motel in downtown Raccoon,” he answers, forcing his fingers to relax before they got stiff and sore. “It’s not too bad. A bit cheesy, but, it’ll do until I can put away enough money for a down payment on an apartment.” He could feel Barry’s gaze drilling holes into him. It took all of his control not to shift in discomfort.

Barry made a noise that sounded like a sigh. “Nah, nah, that won’t do. Stay with me. I rented out a loft that’s a bit t’ big fer th’ likes o’ me. When th’ girls ‘n Kathy come, ‘ll move out and int’ th’ house with them, ‘n you can have th’ loft.”

“I couldn’t put you out like that, Barry,” Chris protested weakly, but the older man had already made up his mind.

“Nonsense. It’ll put my old mind at ease t’ know that you’re not only close, but not in some motel where just any ol’ asshole could walk up ‘n hurt ya’. All ya’ gotta do is pay me half of th’ rent when it comes due every month. ‘N keep th’ place tidy. No dirty underwear left everywhere.” Barry’s hand reached over to clasp his shoulder firmly and Chris found that he couldn’t deny him again. Barry was doing a very generous thing for him, and God damn did he appreciate it.

“. . . Thanks, Barry. I mean it.” He wasn’t good at showing his affection, Barry knew that. “It’ll be nice to stay somewhere permanent, you know?”

The older man grunted as he settled back into a more comfortable position. “I get ya’. I was in the service fer a long time. _Long_ time. Missed Moira bein’ born, heard from Kathy weeks after th’ fact that I had a li’l baby girl. I sat down in th’ empty quarters ‘n wept. Cried because I had a daughter, cried because I missed her bein’ born, cried because I couldn’t be there t’ help her grow. Kath is th’ toughest woman I have ever met. She’s raisin’ both my children alone most o’ th’ time, never knowin’ if ‘m gonna come home again. When my girls were born, though, all I wanted t’ do was go home. It physically hurt me t’ stay loyal t’ th’ job. ‘N when I got home . . . I was glad t’ be able to settle in one spot, even if it was fer a short time. I came t’ treasure whenever I got th’ chance t’ go home, no matter what th’ length of time was.”

Chris listened to him talk, nodding along every so often to let the man know that he was still listening. He could understand where Barry was coming from. He saw Claire as his daughter more than his sister, and by his own decision, he had missed out on a large majority of her childhood. He had practically abandoned her with the family that the state provided them with and had taken off to get money for _her_. To provide for _her_. He had cycled home once to see her when she was around fourteen for a few days, but the short amount of time hadn’t been enough. It was _never_ going to be enough.

He missed her. Whenever he thought of how their relationship had unfortunately crumbled due to his own actions, it felt as if someone was ripping his heartstrings out of his chest with a damned pair of tweezers. He loved Claire so fucking much, yet they would never be close again. One day, maybe she’d accept what he had done and maybe even come to understand it.

“What we do is hard,” Barry sighed, leaning his head back against the headrest. “We have t’ give up a lot, ‘n ask that our family do th’ same, hard as it is. ‘S over now, though. This is a completely different path. We got th’ chance t’ get close t’ our family again n’ spend time with them. We’re _home_.”

* * *

By late afternoon, Chris had dropped Barry off at the loft and had brought his stuff from the motel over, dumping it in the small second room that was now his before herding Barry into his odd – smelling car. He drove to the station, leading Barry to Emily so that he could check in and meet with Irons. Barry was half an hour early for his interview, but Chris’ parents always told him that it was better to be early than late, so he told the other man not to sweat it.

While Barry was busy with waiting for four o’clock to roll around, Chris tried to find his way to the S.T.A.R.S. wing by memory. Unsurprisingly, he got lost, and had to have one of the police officers lead him there. One day he would be able to move throughout this building without getting lost and embarrassing the hell out of himself. But today was not that day.

As he entered the front section of the wing, still surprised to find that the previous day wasn’t a dream and that the damn living quarters looked to be straight out of a cheap modern apartment, he found that he wasn’t alone. Though Richard had said that everyone came and went as they pleased, choosing to spend their time in the town or with their families until work started, Chris hadn’t expected to meet anyone else until that first day.

But, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the new person he was meeting was indeed, female. She was sitting on the couch with her legs crossed underneath her, a book balanced in the crook of her knee. She was entirely absorbed in her book that she hadn’t noticed that Chris was standing there, awkwardly, until he accidentally closed the door too loudly and startled her. She jumped, her book slamming shut, turning to fixate wide eyes obscured by reading glasses upon him.

“Oh,” she placed a hand over her heart, taking a sharp breath, “you startled me. You work here, yes?”

Shit, she was cute. Doe – like blue eyes are fixated on him, a bit too big compared to most. Her nose, too, is slightly large and comes to a soft end whilst most come to points. Her glasses rest upon the bridge of her nose, bottle capped, doing nothing but making her eyes look _bigger_. Her skin, initially looking pale, appears to be two – toned; betraying the fact that she wasn’t completely American. He didn’t want to be presumptuous and guess at her nationality, but if he _had_ to guess . . . perhaps French and Russian? The plump, rose pink lips were making him think Russian for some damned reason.

Her hair was just about shoulder length, a natural light brown and framing her angular face. It was tucked neatly onto her left shoulder with a few stray strands falling back over onto her right. He was struck by how she was a natural beauty, voiding herself of makeup and abstract hairstyles. She was so beautiful that Chris had to look away, flustered.

“Erm, yeah. I do.” Didn’t he have anything better to say? “I’m Chris.” He strode forward, accepting her delicate hand in a firm shake. She wasn’t as delicate as he thought.

Though she appeared to be this gorgeous delicate flower that needed protection, upon closer inspection, he saw that she wasn’t. Her hands, though soft against his, had fresh and old callouses that matched his own. Years of holding onto gun grips, sparring, and dealing with rough surfaces has left their hands tough and prepared for anything.

Her body, though slim, was lean. She had some shape to her hips and her chest, but not a lot. There were hidden muscles along her arms that weren’t visible to him before. She was wearing an oversized knitted sweater that compensated for the cold weather, but hid the truth about her figure. Her jeans, clearly skinny jeans, were tight around her muscled thighs. He was _certain_ that this girl was able to kick his ass without a second thought, and that excited him. She had on fuzzy socks, and a pair of high – top Converse were kicked on the floor.

“I’m Jill.” Too soon she took her hand back, but gestured to the open seat beside her.  Gladly, he took it, setting his extra stuff from the trunk of his car down by the coffee table near her shoes. She found where she had been in her book, slid a bookmark between the pages, and then put it down. She slid her glasses off as well, tucking them safely against the collar of her sweater.

“Jill . . . It’s good to meet another person.” _Lame_. He never was a womanizer in his youth. Clearly, his attempt was pathetic enough to get a pitying laugh out of her. Fuck. He didn’t know what he was going to do. She probably thought he was a damn idiot! “I mean another coworker. I’ve only met Richard.”

“You’re new, aren’t you? I’ve met just about everyone here.” Her legs were still crossed. Those eyes, so blue that it rendered Chris speechless, never left his. He suddenly felt dirty and unkempt compared to her. He hadn’t showered after his interview yesterday, and clearly looked as if he had had a bad night the previous night. _Nice first impression, Chris_.

“Yeah, I met with Irons yesterday.” Were his nerves acting up? Why was this pretty girl, his coworker, stressing him into anxiety? She was just another girl! “Got the tour from Richard before heading home. Didn’t exactly run into anyone during it.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll meet everyone in due time.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Ever work in a police station before?”

“No. I was in the Air Force for the past five years. Have you?”

“Yes, I worked as a secretary part – time during my senior year in high school. You wouldn’t _believe_ the things that they get up to. It’s almost surreal to be a cop myself. Not really a cop, but, a branch off of the department.” She folded her hands neatly in her lap. Such a lady despite having quite the impressive background. “Funny you mention the military, though. I was in the army’s Delta Force. Just the training program.”

She very well _could_ kick his ass. He _loved_ it. “What did you specialize in?”

“Bomb disposal. I became quite familiar with it. I suppose that was one of the reasons why S.T.A.R.S. wanted me.” She was a polite and humble one, offering Chris a comforting smile.

“Jeez, if we’re all coming from shit like that — I really wonder what they’ll do with our talents. Raccoon is small compared to a lot of cities. Crime might be growing, but, I don’t think the city needs to hire protection from _specialized_ people.” It was true. Chris thought that this was a waste of the tax – payer’s money, not that he was complaining. He needed the money more than he felt opposed to their government wasting money.

“You have a point,” Jill admitted. “It’s a good job opportunity, though. Good experience. Could help us get far in life. It’s just one of those things you should enjoy while you can before it gets taken away.”

Chris blinked at her. “You expect this to get taken away?”

“Well, yeah. If you’ve already caught onto its flaws, then the people are, and they’ll complain. Eventually we’ll either get shut down, or . . . I don’t know.” She gave a half – hearted shrug, flashing those doe eyes at him again. If he hadn’t had experience with eyes like that thanks to Claire, he wouldn’t have known that they were her weapon.

One of them, anyway. God, though, they made him want to melt.

“Hey, Forest! C’mere and meet Chris.” Jill waved another coworker over, and Chris turned to face him.

Forest was a man of a build similar to his. The same broad chest with the same sloping shoulders, the same corded muscles that popped out unintentionally with minor movements. He seemed to prefer the grunge aspect to fashion; the skin – tight leather pants ( didn’t those go out of style? ), tightly laced shin – high combat boots, and a dark blue vest with the sleeves cut off. Though he appeared to have a tank top underneath the vest, he mostly was showing skin, thus revealing the tattoo on his left shoulder. Chris tried not to stare, but it looked to be of some type of bird.

The other man’s hair was long — longer than Jill’s — just _barely_ slicked back to keep the strands from falling in his face. An assortment of leather bracelets adorned his right wrist, and he had some type of class ring on his middle finger. The long hair worked well with his long, sharp face. It evened him out.

“Forest Speyer,” the man said gruffly, not offering a hand.

“Christopher Redfield,” Chris answered, trying to match Forest’s frosty tone.

Forest’s eyes, dark and narrow, studied Chris as if he were a piece of prey. “You’re one of us?” He asked eventually, unusually stiff.

“Yeah. Met with Irons yesterday.” Chris met Forest’s gaze evenly.

It was like the sun broke from the dark sheen of clouds when Forest smiled, clapping Chris on the shoulder. “Welcome to the team, bud!”

“Thanks?” Chris laughed, just accepting Forest’s sudden change of heart. It was almost as if Forest had been testing him.

“Don’t worry about Forest,” Jill advised. “He’s like that to the new ones, but he’s a good person deep down.”

“Try telling that to the people I’ve killed.”

Chris stared at him.

“ _Kidding_! Lighten up, Chris.” Forest clapped him on the shoulder again. “If you’re going to be in S.T.A.R.S., you’re going to have to get used to humor like that. And me being the best out of every other man or woman here.”

“The best?” Chris echoed, snorting. “I’d like to see you match up against _my_ skills. There is _no way_ you’re better than _me_.”

“You wanna bet?” Forest challenged. A friendly gleam was sparkling in his dark eyes. “Twenty bucks says that I can kick your ass in a fight.”

“Thirty bucks says that I can kick _your_ ass.”

“Deal!” Forest thrust his hand out, and Chris grasped it firmly and they both shook on it. “Joseph!” Forest barked, his voice excited. “Come here!”

A man that looked to be in his early twenties slipped out of the hallway that led to the dorms, heading for the growing group of people in the living room. He was tall, narrower than both Forest and Chris, but still pretty damn fit. Fit enough to be intimidating. The roots of his blond hair peeked out from atop his ears and underneath a red cloth that he had wrapped around his head. Joseph was cracking his knuckles as he drew close, his lips pulling up into a smile when he saw Forest.

Joseph had green cargo pants on and military boots, along with a blue vest and a white tee – shirt underneath. Fingerless gloves were on his hands. He moved silently, head cocked to the left, taking in the situation with quiet curiosity. “Did you start another fight?” He asked, his voice smooth and gentle.

Forest rolled his eyes, slinging his arm around Joseph’s shoulders. Joseph leaned into it, a genuine smile pulling up his lips. “ _Another_ fight? No way. Instead . . . I made a bet with this good man Chris here that I’m stronger than he is and can kick his ass.”

“Oh, this should be _good_.” Originally seeming like the quiet one, Joseph was beginning to brighten up. “I’m not taking sides with this, though. Someone is going to get their ass kicked one way or another.”

“That’s right,” Jill answered. “Let’s keep it friendly though, shall we?”

“Come on!” Both Forest and Joseph pulled Chris to his feet, leading him through the halls and towards the gym. Once they got there, Forest let go and began to stretch, Chris doing the same. Joseph and Jill were pulling out some mats and setting them up, watching as the two men got warmed up.

“No biting, no scratching, and no dirty tricks.” Jill listed off, pointing at Forest with one of her brows arched.

“Why are you singling me out?” Forest complained.

“Because you bit me!” Joseph responded, rolling his eyes. “No more biting, Forest!”

“Alright, alright! No biting!” Forest relented, bouncing onto the mats. “You gonna come join me, Chris?”

Chris moved with more grace, stepping onto the soft mat and facing Forest. The other man was cracking his neck, tying his hair back into a bun.

“No hair pulling, either.” Jill stepped to the side with Joseph, her hands on her hips. “The first person to say _uncle_ is the loser. We clear on the rules?” When both nodded, she clapped her hands. “Go ahead and fight!”

Forest lunged forward in a wild swing, one that was timed to connect with Chris’ jaw. Chris ducked, feeling the air whistle past his face. That would have left a damn bruise if it had connected!

Not to be outdone, Chris decided to cast speed aside for brute force. He retained his balance and surged forward, arms wrapping around Forest’s torso and knocking the other man to the ground. Forest’s knees whipped up to his chest, catching Chris in the stomach and knocking the breath from him. The duo struggled on the mat before Chris broke free, putting distance between them and attempting to catch his breath.

“Fuck, you’re good,” Chris complimented, quickly gaining control over his breathing. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Neither were you.” Forest’s eyes were glowing. “Does this mean you’re giving in?”

“No way!” Now, Chris was even more determined to kick Forest’s ass.

Chris made the first move. He swung his leg out, catching Forest’s legs and knocking them out from underneath him. Forest, caught off guard, crashed unceremoniously to the ground. The other man grunted, the mat softening his fall. Chris took the opportunity to pounce, working Forest onto his stomach and twisting his arm behind his back. Forest was thrashing underneath him, struggling to break free, but being unable to due to Chris’ iron tight grip.

“Give up?” Chris asked, his voice taunting.

“Your grip is a vice!” Forest growled, trying to buck Chris off. But Chris was heavier than Forest, and was a solid weight on the other man’s back. All he did was shift his weight, settling more comfortably upon Forest, giving the man no other choice but to surrender.

“Come on, Forest, you owe me thirty bucks,” Chris taunted again, and the other man sighed.

“Fine, fine, uncle! Uncle, damnit! Get your heavy fat ass off of me! I can barely breathe beneath you!”

As he gave Forest enough room for the man underneath him to slither away, Chris got to his feet, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction. “You almost got me there, I’ll admit. But you can’t beat someone who was in the Air Force. Nah, we’re built like steel. If you were a bit bigger than me, and a bit faster, _then_ you could beat me. But not now.”

Forest sniffed, turning away to rub sorely at his back. “I think my back is bruised from where you crushed me. I’ll have imprints of your ass on me for _weeks_.”

“Don’t worry about Forest, Chris. He’s a sore loser. You’ll hear him complaining for a couple days yet.” Joseph walked over, Jill lagging behind.

“Am not,” Forest muttered, digging his wallet out of his back pocket. Angrily, he pulled it open, revealing a wad of cash inside.

“Remember that game of cards?” Joseph retorted, eyebrows arched. “How you flipped the table? It took us a couple of hours to clean what you had destroyed. Granted, it was hilarious to see you freak the fuck out, it was not fun to clean.”

“I seem to have magically forgotten. Freak out? What freak out? Forest Speyer doesn’t freak out. Not in front of people like _you_.” Forest handed over a twenty and a ten, giving Chris what looked like a genuine smile. “You really fought well, holy shit. I seriously am going to be bruised tomorrow. Next time, though, I’m going to take you down.”

“Me too.” Chris stretched, feeling the soreness spreading along his lower back. “It was fun, I actually really enjoyed it. I look forward to you trying to kick my ass again and failing, buddy. I don’t think that there’s anyone in this building that can manage that.”

Jill, from her spot behind Joseph, made a soft noise. “It was indeed interesting to watch. Why don’t we all go and grab a drink? There’s an awesome bar about a block away. I don’t know about you guys, but I could _really_ use a beer.”

* * *

Joseph, Jill, Forest, and Chris ended up going to the bar and talking for hours. Barry joined them after his interview was over, dragging along one of the captains. His name was Enrico Marini, and though he seemed gruff at first, he ended up being full of smiles and jokes and eager to get to know his new coworkers. Richard even joined them for a short time before he ducked out, claiming that he wasn’t a big drinker.

Barry, not to Chris’ surprise, didn’t have much to drink. He had only one beer before he switched to water, claiming that because he was the driver, he had to say sober to drive his and Chris’ ass home.

During these few hours of bonding, Chris discovered that Joseph and Forest had known each other for a few years before joining S.T.A.R.S. They had been good friends, drifted, and ended up in the same line of work. That’s where their easy friendship seemed to come from, and for a moment, Chris envied it before remembering that he and Barry were like that.

Enrico had talked for a while before leaving soon after Richard, saying that he had to get things ready for the following morning. _“Work begins at eight thirty sharp tomorrow, kids! Make sure you’re there twenty minutes before that!”_

Chris and Jill had talked for hours. They were sitting next to each other, bottles of beer beginning to collect in a haphazard circle around them. He was completely mesmerized by her. He loved the sound of her laugh, the way the corners of her lips crinkled when she smiled, and _God_ he loved the way her eyes just seemed to glow.

He ended up finding out that she was American, but with Japanese and French heritage. He had been right about the French, but wrong with the Russian. Oh, well; she was still just as beautiful. She even managed to pull some information about Claire and his parents out of him before Chris clammed up, claiming that she didn’t want to hear about his boring family and how domestic their lives were. Her eyes had gleamed in sympathy, as if she had been able to guess that something terrible had happened. This girl was good at reading people, Chris had realized, and he absolutely _did not_ want her to read him.

By the time ten o’clock rolled around, Chris had Jill cracking up over some dumb thing that he said. Her laughter sounded heavenly amongst the loud clamor of the bar, and her cheeks were flushed; something Chris wished he could pin upon his wittiness, but could also be chalked up to the amount of beer in her system. Barry had been sitting patiently at the other end of the table, picking at a discarded plate of cold wings, choosing not to participate in the conversation up until now.

“Chris, hey, we should get a move on,” the older man said gently, breaking Chris’ focus away from Jill. He hated looking away from her, even for a moment.

The young woman gasped as she looked down at the watch on her wrist, looking worried. “I didn’t realize it got so late! Poor Frosty, he must be so hungry.” She got to her feet a bit unsteadily, reaching for her jacket and her bag.

“Frosty?” Chris echoed, confused.

“My cat. He was a stray that I picked up a few years ago.” She wound her scarf around her neck, tucking her hair into a messy bun before slipping a hat on. “It was really good talking with you both, I enjoyed it a lot. We should all do this again sometime.” Her offer sounded genuine, and Chris wanted to take her up on it immediately, but Barry beat him to the punch.

Barry had risen to his feet and nodded. “T’was fun, but not again on work nights. Weekend, next time.” 

“You sound like a chiding parent,” Chris teased.

“I _am_ a parent!”

Jill seemed to take that as her cue to go. “I’ll . . .”

An awkward silence settled between them both as their gazes met, and Chris internally had to bite back so many wrong words that he wanted to say. He had never been smooth around woman; he was awkward and clumsy, tripping over his words and always saying the wrong thing. He had good intentions, but could never get them out without sounding like an idiot. “Are you driving, or taking a cab?” All he was trying to do was prolong the conversation a bit longer, silently begging that she would ensnare herself in yet another conversation with him.

_Please, just stay a bit longer. Don’t go yet._

“Taking a cab. I’ll come back for my car in the morning. I don’t live too far from here.” The smile that graced her lips was so warm that it made Chris melt. He was surprised that he didn’t lose feelings in his legs from how warm he got. “I’ll see you both tomorrow, bright and early.”

“Bright and early,” Chris repeated, watching as she gave a cute little wave and left through the door.

“Boy,” Barry whistled, “ya’ have got it _bad_.”

“Shut up,” Chris snapped, his face burning as he stood up. “I _do not_.”

“I know the sight o’ y’ung love when I see it,” Barry crooned. “Me ‘n Kath were just like ya’ ‘n Jill. Look at us now! Married, two kids, livin’ th’ good life.”

“She’s just a friend and a coworker,” Chris protested, shrugging on his jacket and leaving a generous tip on the table. “I don’t even know her that well. It’s too soon to tell if I really like her or not.”

“’Sides, ya’ don’t know if ya’ can even _be_ in a relationship with ya’ coworkers yet. Best just forget about her now, ‘n save yourself from th’ pain later.” Barry carried on as if Chris had never spoke. “But who is t’ stop ya’ two kids from havin’ some fun? Bumpin’ some uglies in the office ‘n shit like tha’?”

Chris was glowering as he led the way to his car, handing over his keys to Barry and sliding into the passenger seat. The interior of his car was fucking _cold_ , the seat feeling like an icicle against his ass, and the air nipping at his exposed skin. Winter was on its way. Barry got into the car beside him and turned it on, immediately turning on the heat.

Silence blanketed them as Barry pulled out of the parking lot, taking an unknown route to the apartment. Chris didn’t recognize the streets, didn’t even try to, because his home had changed so much in the time that he had been gone. He hardly recognized _anything_ that they passed. How could things change so majorly and so quickly?

Nostalgia filled him, pricking along his brain like a live wire. He had lived almost his entire life here. He had grown up here, lived here, experienced a lot of firsts here. They were all lost because of idiotic decisions and because the world moved on.

It didn’t matter that Christopher Redfield first got a blowjob from an old girlfriend in his first car at that stoplight, because no one but him and the girl remembered it. Other guys were getting blown by girls whilst parked underneath stoplights every single day.

Okay. That was a dumb memory to start thinking of again. Chris sighs, letting his head fall against his cool window with a _thud_. He didn’t want to start thinking of his first blowjob again, because damn, it actually sucked; she used too much teeth and he hardly even lasted three minutes —

Shaking his head to rid himself of the memory, Chris watched as Barry pulled into the parking lot, bracing himself for the cold once the older man shut the car off. Wordlessly, they both got out and filed into the building, heading two floors up and waiting for Barry to open the front door. Crisp, cool air hit his face as soon as Barry stepped aside, revealing a small opening for Chris to slide through.

Barry, unsurprisingly, went toddling off towards his bathroom immediately. Chris, almost as if unsure as what he wanted to do, lingered around the front door before making his way into the kitchen. He caught a glimpse of the time, seeing that it was almost ten o’clock, and grunted. He could have gone on talking to Jill for a few more hours yet! Trust Barry to be the buzzkill.

Instead of dwelling on it, Chris reached inside of the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. On the way to his bathroom, he set his water down on his bedside table, snagging pajamas and yelling a goodnight to Barry through the closed door.

After brushing his teeth, washing his face, changing, and taking his final piss for the night, Chris’ bare feet tread across the cold hallway flooring towards his room. An unfamiliar yet not unwelcome pit hollowed in his stomach, telling him that this was home; that this place, apartment 2E, was where he belonged.

* * *

The night was spent mostly tossing and turning, seeing as how he didn’t have any sheets for his mattress yet. Thankfully, his room didn’t have a fan, so Chris was only too content to curl up underneath the comforter and roast himself into an uneasy sleep. His dreams were filled with memories that he had worked so hard on repressing, and when he awoke in the morning, he drained the water bottle to quench his parched throat.

By the time he made it out to the front room and bid good morning to Barry, he hoped that none of what had happened whilst he was asleep showed on his face. If Barry caught onto the relapse in Chris’ mental state, he said nothing; only nodding when Chris said he was going to shower and not to do anything stupid like wash the damn dishes. Not that there were any dishes that needed to be washed.

A long half an hour was spend hiding underneath the boiling spray of water, face turned upwards towards the showerhead, feeling as if he could never scrub himself clean no matter how hard he tried. It always felt as if blood, hot and sticky, pulled at his skin; threatening to drag him down into the endless abyss of self – loathing and guilt.

Barry had left him his clothes outside the bathroom door. With a quiet thank you, Chris picked them up and brought them inside his bathroom, taking his time in putting them on and really examining how he looked.

What he put on first was the white tee – shirt with the S.T.A.R.S. logo on the left shoulder, a mixture of blue, yellow white and black. Almost affectionately, Chris touched the patch, aware that it was about to become his most defining piece of clothing. That small patch, only about the size of a paperweight, was the one thing that could confirm all of this was real.

A light green flak jacket / vest had been donned on top, and though Chris wasn’t too fond of the way it had _so many fucking pockets_ and the high collar, he had to admit, it did suit his build well. The beige cargo pants were a bit of a squeeze to get into — he’d have to tell one of the captain’s later that he needed a larger pair — and again, he didn’t like the look of the boxy, bulging pockets. Thankfully though, the pants easily tucked into his dark combat boots, which were easy to lace up.

Next, he put on the fingerless leather gloves. The material chaffed at the tender webbing between his fingers, and Chris did his best to ignore it, knowing that he couldn’t bitch about several aspects of his new uniform.

The harness took him about twenty minutes to figure out; finally, he figured out that they snapped in three places; one midway on his back, one around his left shoulder, and the other around his waist. His cheeks were flushed from the effort of pulling the damn things on, and when he stalked out of the bathroom, Barry snorted in amusement.

“Have trouble gettin’ ‘em on?” The older man was already dressed and ready to go, a cup of steaming coffee held in his hands. 

“Maybe,” Chris muttered mutinously, snatching bad – temperedly at an apple that was sitting on the counter. “At least I’m ready to go.”

“Did ya’ brush yer teeth?”

“Of course I brushed my teeth!” Chris snapped, glaring at Barry, who was chortling away. “You don’t need to use your dad voice with me.”

“E’ery kid younger than me is gonna hear my dad voice, as ya’ put it.” Barry retorted, taking a sip of coffee. “That, my boy, is how I prove that I am superior.”

“Sure, superior is the word I’d use.”

They sat in pleasant silence as Chris ate and Barry finished his coffee, finally getting ready to go when the clock struck eight o’clock. A bolt of anxiety struck Chris like a truck as he pulled on his jacket, unable to hide the way he bounced in a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Out of the corner of his eye, Barry looked at him, his expression sly.

“Excited?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Let’s hope ya’ don’t fuck this one up.” Barry teased, and Chris slugged him in the arm. They bantered back and forth on the way to the car, and lapsed into silence on the way to the station. Chris’ stomach was churning too much for him to be able to speak to Barry, and God, he hoped that this was going to work out. Not just for him — for the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. team, and for those that would come after them. He could help be the start to a generation of S.T.A.R.S. workers; kids who had grand military backgrounds but nothing to do with it, that would be welcomed into the two – teamed squad.

This time, Barry led the way to where the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. members gathered, knowing that Chris would be dumb enough to get them lost and have them be late for their first day. A part of Chris was offended that Barry would think that low of him, but a darker part of Chris knew that it was the truth. He had no idea how to get the fuck around this place yet.

“I wonder who th’ other captain is gonna be,” Barry said out loud, and Chris wondered if it was a question that he should answer.

“Well, we’ll find out who it is today regardless.” He shrugged. “I don’t really see how it matters.”

Barry shook his head. “Usually, captains are prepared days before their coworkers. ‘S just odd that we haven’t seen this person yet. Or heard of ‘em. Sketchy, almost.”

“You’re being paranoid,” Chris snapped, not wanting Barry’s paranoia to ruin this for him. He knew that he agreed with what Barry was saying on some level, but his desperation to enjoy this, to revel in the opportunities that it would unfold for him was making it hard to listen to that tiny part. “Just leave it alone.”

The older man fell silent, as if hurt, as they walked together. Chris felt bad for his harsh tone, but was too stubborn to apologize. Barry _wasn’t_ going to ruin this for him. And he wasn’t going to ruin it for himself, either.

He was going to make sure of it.


End file.
